


The Fall Won't Kill You

by misbegotten



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: First Time, Flirting, Fluff, Fury Knows All, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's never been much for protocol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fall Won't Kill You

SHIELD operatives don't just start dating. There is a protocol.

Actually, there's a protocol _against_ it.

Clint has never been much on protocol either way.

*

"Barton, don't you have a home?" Phil Coulson strolled to his desk, flicking Clint's head with a file folder as he passed.

Clint pretended a yawn and turned over on the sofa in Phil's office. "Your couch is comfy," he lied. It really wasn't -- it was a lumpy, leather monstrosity that probably accounted for the bags under Coulson's eyes, when he bothered with it at all and didn't just sleep at his desk. Clint stretched his arms, working out a few kinks with a roll of his shoulders. "And my home is boring."

"As opposed to the nonstop action in my office?" Phil settled behind his desk and opened the file folder, studying its contents and intently ignoring Barton.

"You're here," Clint said simply, and Phil's eyes flickered to him at that. A corner of his mouth twitched.

"Stop saying nice things to me. People will talk."

Clint shrugged. "People do." He turned over and closed his eyes again.

*

"Ouch," Clint complained, slithering from the Hulk's grasp. It had been a less than gentle landing, and he was feeling the popped muscles in his back and arms.

"Hulk smash," Hulk said helpfully, and lumbered back to the melee with the Frost Giants.

"You do that, buddy," Clint called after him, nursing his jammed fingers.

"Hawkeye, do you copy?" Coulson interrupted. "Status report, Barton."

Clint swung around and spotted Phil standing tall behind a SHIELD Humvee. "No worries, boss. Just give me a minute to catch my breath." He flexed his hand, decided there were no broken bones ( _thank God_ ). Then he heard Stark shout, "Coulson, on your six!" and he was falling, an unearthly blast of ice pushing him backwards. He scrambled up from the ground and launched himself in the direction he'd last seen Phil.

"Coulson!" he shouted, trying to see through a cloudy mist of vapor. The Humvee was a popsicle, and he really hoped his... handler wasn't.

He needn't have worried. "Barton, get me out of here," Phil demanded irritably. He'd somehow managed to escape the blast with everything but his shoe, which was stuck determinedly to the vehicle.

Clint hid a smile and knelt down, unsheathing the knife at his belt and chipping away at the ice. "Glad you're okay."

"All things considered," Phil agreed, when he was finally able to extract his foot from the frozen shoe. Clint, who was still kneeling, ran his hand carefully over Phil's foot, flexing it gently.

"All your toes still there?"

Phil managed to look amused and annoyed at the same time. "Get your hand off my foot, Agent Barton. I'm not your Cinderella. Go kill some Frost Giants."

"Yes sir, thank you sir. Glad you're not dead, sir." Clint snapped a half-assed salute at Phil and dove back into the fight.

The next morning, Phil found a lone right shoe sitting on his desk. It fit perfectly.

*

"It's not a date," Phil contended.

Clint took a bite of tikka masala and shrugged. "It's you and me in a restaurant. It's a date."

"Natasha canceled," Phil pointed out.

"There's fucking _candlelight_ ," Clint retorted. Granted, it was just a tealight. But still, _candlelight_.

"I need another beer," Phil said, rubbing a hand over his face.

"The thought of a date with me drives you to drink?" Clint was genuinely curious. Flirting with Phil was second-nature. Being rebuffed was customary.

"No," Phil said. " _This_ drives me to drink." And with that, he slid his hand across the table and tangled his fingers with Clint's.

Clint squeezed Phil's hand gently. He wondered if Phil would break his fingers if Phil knew that Clint had let Natasha whump him for three rounds in exchange for canceling.

He had the bruises to prove it.

*

"Aren't you supposed to say you're not this kind of a girl?" Clint managed as Phil's hands skimmed his bare chest, taking in the bruise there. Natasha had a hell of a kick.

Phil took his nipple between two fingers and pinched, sending a shiver down Clint's spine. "We've been flirting for two years, Barton. You want to go slow?"

Clint tripped over his discarded t-shirt, and ended up plastered against the back of Phil's front door. "Hell no. But you could try calling me Clint."

Phil grinned. "I was thinking something more blasphemous." He put Clint's hand on his groin, letting him feel the hard press of his cock in his slacks. "Or we could skip talking altogether."

"Fuck," Clint said, tracing the outline of Phil's erection.

"We can do that," Phil said mildly, as if Clint had just asked for a team status report. Damn, if Clint didn't want to mess up polished and precise Phil Coulson. He crashed his lips against Phil's, teeth and tongues colliding, and considered briefly that this wasn't how it was supposed to go at all. A few more tentative dates, maybe some making out in a secluded corner of the Avengers mansion, and then a good, slow fuck somewhere. Maybe by _tealight_ , because it amused him.

Phil, it seemed, had other ideas. He cradled Clint's head in both hands and drew him in again for one of those fucking intoxicating kisses. Clint felt shaky in the knees, and covered it by inching his way down Phil's torso to mouth at his cloth-covered cock. He fumbled with the zipper and worked his way into Phil's briefs, thumb skidding over the precome on Phil's dick. "You want to fuck me?" he asked, and felt Phil twitch in his hand.

"I was thinking you could fuck me," Phil said, again in that _oh, and don't forget to fill out your Form 15-As_ tone of voice.

Clint groaned.

"Come on," Phil said, drawing him up. He hustled Clint through the living room -- Clint caught a glimpse of sparse furniture and massive bookshelves -- to the bedroom. He took off his slacks and hung them carefully over the back of a chair, then started on the buttons of his dress shirt. "You waiting for something, Clint?"

"Waiting to wake up and realize this is a wet dream." Clint grinned. He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed to pull off his socks, then wriggled out of his jeans and boxers. His cock was already half-hard, and he worked it to attention with one hand while Phil finished stripping.

"Uh huh," Phil chided him. "That's my job." And he pushed Clint back onto the mattress, one hand on his hip and the other on Clint's dick. He slid over the head, then down and up in a delicious friction, and Clint screwed his eyes shut, trying not to come like a teenager just at Phil's touch.

"Phil," he finally gasped, "stop. I can't go slow tonight."

Phil leaned over and kissed him, sucking on his lower lip, but he relented and took his hand away from Clint's cock. Rolling away from Clint briefly, he rummaged in the nightstand and came up with a plastic tube and a condom. Pressing them into Clint's hand, he turned on his back. "Prep me," he ordered, as if ordering Clint to take down a target.

Clint squeezed some lube on his fingers. "Like this?" he asked, and Phil nodded jerkily -- the first sign of loss of control that Clint had seen in him. With a grin, Clint circled the tight entrance to Phil's ass, just rubbing gently. "You sure?"

"Don't make me pull rank," Phil said blandly, but his hand locked hard on Clint's. "Clint," he said, and there was enough of a plea in it that Clint felt a knot of anticipation bubble up in his chest.

He pressed in one finger, and Phil took a deep breath, Clint echoing him with a shudder. Phil was hot and tight, clenching around him, and it didn't take long for one finger to yield to two. Clint pushed in, stretching Phil around him, watching in fascination as Phil's body enveloped him. Three fingers elicited a hiss from Phil, but he shook his head affirmatively and said, a little unsteadily, "Do it."

Clint released Phil reluctantly and fumbled with the condom, rolling it down over his length and then slicking up with more lube. "You ready?" he couldn't help asking, and Phil gave him an encouraging nod. Slinging Phil's legs around his waist, Clint guided his cock slowly into Phil, his fingers threaded through Phil's. Phil clenched around him bodily, ass and hand shuddering together, and then Clint was deep and still. "Phil," he managed, and Phil squeezed his hand gently. He began to stroke into Phil, steady and deep, and he knew the moment he brushed Phil's prostate from the twist of Phil's hips and the sharp cry he uttered.

"Jesus, fuck," Phil said, and so Clint did it again. He was steadily building towards his own climax, the sweet pressure of Phil clenched around him undoing him. In desperation, he laid his free hand on Phil's cock, jutting hard between them, and twisted his hand, up and down in an echo of his own rhythm. Phil's grip on his hand tightened painfully, and he clawed at the bedclothes with his free hand, until finally -- _finally_ \-- he broke and came, splattering on Clint's chest and his own belly. Clint barely had time to feel victorious before he followed Phil down, pounding out his own release as Phil bucked up to meet him.

He slid in a boneless heap onto Phil's chest, pausing only to tie off the condom and throw it unerringly in the nearby trashcan. He had to clear his throat before he could talk coherently. "I could get used to this."

" _This_ is against protocol," Phil said gently, rubbing one hand across Clint's shoulders.

Clint considered it for a moment. "So you're saying you don't want to do it again?"

Phil pressed a kiss absently on to Clint's forehead. "I'm saying it's a good thing Fury had today in the office pool on when we'd finally stop flirting."

Clint barked out a laugh. "You took one for the team?"

Phil shrugged. "I might have encouraged Natasha to cancel on dinner."

"That back-stabbing, double-dealing wench," Clint muttered.

"You want to talk about Fury and the Widow some more, or do you want to take a shower with me?"

Clint pretended to consider his options. "Can we get dirty again later?"

"Absolutely."

*

SHIELD operatives don't just start dating. There is a protocol.

Actually, there's a protocol _against_ it.

Clint has never been much on protocol.

Fortunately, neither has Phil.


End file.
